Stay
by Eyesinthenight102
Summary: "Trapped, I am trapped. There is no way out." (AU Enchanted Forest. Sleeping Warrior)


For As Long As You Need (1/1)

Summary: AU Enchanted Forest, while on the quest for Phillip's soul. Aurora wakens from an intense nightmare. Thankfully, Mulan is by her side.

(AN: Given to me by my good friend, Xam. :) I hope this does your idea justice, sweetie! Also I tried something new…a first person Aurora POV. Let me know what you think…)

-x—

_Trapped, I am trapped. There is no way_ _out._

The red walls of the room rise thick and impenetrable. Their paint is rich, dark, and foreboding; the exact color of blood- _My blood_. Or so I think. I shudder, though there is no chill. I know this place…I have walked here every night since my awakening from the cold slumber of near-death. It is the netherworld: the space between realms. A place where there is no life, no light, and no name. This is a place woven from the fabric of nightmares, creating only death, darkness, and despair.

I can feel the sweat start to bead on my brow, soaking my hair, making the dark strands stick to my forehead in slick tendrils, wet with fear. I shudder, but not from a chill. I know this place. It is my prison. It is my hell.

I feel my chest tighten subconsciously and my breath starts to grow shallow. My heart patters to a gallop, slamming hard into my ribcage until it aches. I can hear my own breath and blood roaring in my ears. It's coming…I know it is.

Instinct sends my eyes darting about desperately for some means of escape, though I know I'll find none. There is nothing here. Nothing but blackness…but not for long. I can hear it coming. Like a distant howl of wind through a narrow corridor, or the baying of some great beast. The flames are rushing.

I feel my stomach clench, and a light close to the floor flashes with a sickly orange glow. They're almost here now. The heat is growing, and I can feel my palms begin to prickle with droplets of fear-filled sweat. A tiny piece of me whimpers _No, please…not this time. Not again. I am scared…_

My father once told me that if a stag is chased through the forest by a pack of wolves it will eventually collapse. The deer may have speed, but the wolves have endurance, and they know that fleetness of foot will soon run its course. The stag's heart will eventually give out as the adrenaline, fear, and exertions cause chemicals to build up around the beating organ. The prey will stagger to a halt and fall, twitching and thrashing on the forest floor as it dies. Distantly, a part of me wonders if people are the same way.

There is only so much fear, hardship, hate, and terror the human body can take. I fear mine is nearly at its breaking point. I am the stag, the flames are my wolves, and I am quite afraid.

The fires spring to life, pouring into the tiny space sudden and savage. They lick at the walls and devour every square inch hungrily, leaving billowing towers of black smoke that stings and burns at my eyes. I cough and sputter, trying to cover my nose and mouth with the hem of my thin, cream-colored shawl. It does little good. I can smell the reek of burning hair where the fires have clawed my arms. I cry out, and try to crouch myself into a corner. If I make myself small, perhaps the fires will not reach me…I sit, forehead pressed against the juncture between walls, and my hands coil into my auburn locks. I grit my teeth and clamp my eyes shut. If I try hard enough, perhaps I can imagine that I am safe. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes, but whether they are from the smoke or borne of my own personal weakness, I cannot tell. Truthfully, I do not care.

My skin is angry and red-baked and blistering like sunburn, but in a place without a sky. The heat is on my back now, growing ever closer until it feels like a brand. White hot, scorching, tearing, singeing, and roasting. I am going to burn alive.

I run my dry tongue over cracked and bloodied lips and open my mouth to scream over the roaring of my tormentors, but my smoke-ravaged throat only manages a weakened, rasping croak. My vocal chords scrape against each other, raw and painful.

"Help." I hiss, clutching at my throat. "Please…help me." My voice is barely above a whisper. No one can hear me. _How fitting_, I think to myself, _that the docile little princess…the one who always wanted to be heard but never spoke out when she had the chance will now die a silent death_.

The smoke is suffocating now, and all I see is blackness before my own eyes. I cough, and my vision begins to narrow, pinching down to a thin little prick of light. My head feels like an odd mix of heavy and light, as if someone has managed to stuff my skull full of cotton. Things become fuzzy, and I feel myself tilt wildly as my cheek collides with the floor.

Out of oxygen. Out of time. Out of hope.

Cinders and ashes flutter down from the ceiling and land on my cheeks like flecks of dark, blackened snow.

_I wonder_, my brain purrs dimly as I slip towards the void, _what happens if you die in a dream?_

…

"Aurora! Aurora, wake up! Wake up!" The hand that shakes my shoulder is hard and firm, and a loud familiar voice grates against my eardrums as I thrash against the iron grip. Consciousness slams into my sleep-befuddled brain with crippling force. I feel it, like a hammer pounding at the space behind my eye sockets, as reality spins into my vision with a sickening swirl of color, light, and sound.

Mulan's face hovers over me, dark brows knitted together in a concerned scowl as she kneels by my elbow. My cheeks are slick and wet.

"You were crying in your sleep again, princess." She speaks, her voice is low and level, but I see something flash in her dark eyes. Concern? Fear? It is gone in an instant and I feel my tears cooling in the crisp night air.

"I…I''m fine." I stammer. "Thank you for waking me." I wipe the stray tears away with the back of my hand, hoping to hide the growing rosiness of my cheeks.

"You have nothing to fear, Aurora. I was watching over you." She speaks with an honest candor-one of the many aspects of her that I have grown to deeply appreciate over these last long months. Her clipped phrases are always refreshingly to-the-point.

"Easy for you to say…Warrior's aren't afraid of anything." I mumble.

"Oh, you might be surprised…" She whispers low, her gaze growing distant, and her mahogany eyes catching mine. We are so close, she and I, that I can hear the soft sound of her breathing. We sit for a moment in glorious silence.

I study every detail of her face, committing it to memory: The high cheekbones that sweep sure and fine, the strong jaw line that frames a gentle mouth, the dark brows that slope up like a raven taking flight…they are all pieces of her. Parts of a beautiful whole. My fingers twitch, and I realize that I have the sudden urge to touch her. Craving to run my thumb across the gentle curvature of her lips, hungering to stroke her cheek with the sensitive tips of my fingers. Some part of me, buried deep inside, wonders how her skin feels. My chest aches as my mind flicks to consider the feel of her beneath my hands. I tamp the whispers down with a shake of my head. My brain has surely been addled by lack of sleep. The nightmares must still have a hold upon my mind.

"I should get back to my watch." Mulan replies with her taciturn bluntness, her face hard and implacable. No matter how hard I ever hope to stare, she is unreadable. I can almost see the shadows dance behind the guarded depths of those eyes. I can feel her withdrawing from me. Physically and emotionally. I watch as she begins to stand and turn, preparing to stride away and melt back into the forest shadows.

My eyelids are already starting to feel heavy, as my mind pulls me back down towards the depths of sleep. I can nearly smell the smoke again. "No, stay." I mumble, reaching out almost instinctively to wind my fingers into burgundy fabric as I catch the hem of the swordswoman's cloak. The rough-spun, dark silk is cool to the touch. My plea comes out as a breathy whisper, sliding past my tongue "…Please."

Mulan's face softens; the hard planes and angles of duty and honor becoming gentle and understanding. She turns; kneeling back down to sit by my side and her presence is strong and solid. She is a rock amongst a rushing current in which I am drowning. She is reality. She is here.

"As you wish, princess." She whispers. Her tenderness surprises me, and distantly I feel the gentle touch of two gloved fingers upon my forehead. My mind begins to slip again, pulled eternally to the place between worlds. I hear her promise, echoing and intangible, as if she speaks from a long ways away.

"I shall stay and keep watch for as long as you need."

And then, I am gone….


End file.
